There Never Was a Lady Like Her
by darthsydious
Summary: ***SPOILERS for Season 3*** Carson mourns, full synopsis inside to prevent those who don't want spoilers from reading!


_Carson mourns for Lady Sybil, reflecting on a fond memory. Carson/Hughes naturally! - darthsydious_

* * *

~O~

Carson, for the first time in his life did not know how to respond to Lord Grantham. He heard Mrs. Hughes give the staff's condolences, and that they would let the staff know what had happened. The Earl departed, shaken and understandably low in spirits. A gloom had settled over Downton.

The staff's reaction was very much the same as Carson's. The kitchen was quiet, Anna sniffled. The newer staff bowed their heads respectfully.

"Is there anything we should do Mr. Carson?" Daisy's soft voice startled him.

"Carry on, Daisy." His voice cracked, and he had to take a breath. "As we all must." He turned away, attempting to keep composure. Each step was measured, as if at any moment he might topple over from grief. He heard Anna still in the kitchen, crying quietly, and Mrs. Hughes take Daisy in her arms. Somehow, he got to his office, standing by the desk. He regarded it, chewing on his bottom lip. He suddenly turned and left, forgetting the lights on. The others were heading upstairs, too distracted to notice him.

On steady feet, he headed out through the courtyard, his bed shoes crunching on the gravel. He headed determinedly to a particular corner of the grounds, near the garden. He didn't hear Mrs. Hughes following after him, nor calling for him. He stopped at one of the fruit trees, toeing around the roots, and then looking up the trunk, until he saw what he was looking for. He regarded it now, a particular memory glowing in his mind's eye. He forgot about his wet shoes or that he was in his dressing robe and pyjamas. He gazed up through the branches to the evening sky, his thoughts far from that cold night, thinking of one day, long ago now…

"_Mr. Carson!" the butler looked down to the youngest Crawley. Lady Sybil, only five, tugged on his trouser leg. _

"_Yes Lady Sybil?"_

"_Will you give me a boost?" _

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"_I want an apple from the tree."_

"_Perhaps I can reach one for you." He tried, deciding Lady Grantham would not like her youngest scaling the fruit trees. _

"_No." she said determinedly. "I want to get it myself." He frowned. He disliked telling the Earl's daughters no. Not because he thought Lord and Lady Grantham spoiled their children, but rather because Carson had a terrible weakness for precocious children, little girls in particular. And he had been there for all three births in Downton Abbey. _

"_Well…" he began, still uncertain. _

"_If you give me a boost, you'll be able to pick which branch I grab hold of." Sybil said. "You know which is strongest, and you can watch and make sure I don't fall." _

"_If you're quick." He said, and she lifted her arms up, beaming at him. Dark curls already mussed, her ribbon held on by what seemed to be sheer willpower. The nanny had the most difficult time, keeping Lady Sybil neat and presentable. Carson grasped her little waist, swinging her up, and she reached for the nearest branch. _

"_Is this one sturdy Mr. Carson?"_

"_Yes, that one is safe." He said, "Mind your feet now, careful- mind- oh…" he sighed, watching her kick her short legs until she found purchase. She shimmied along on her belly down the strong branches, bark catching on her dress. Through the green leaves she peered at him, grinning like the Cheshire cat. She reached the middle of the branch, and stretching upright, she grasped an apple, then another. _

"_Catch!" she said, and tossed the fruit down to him. _

"_Oh- uh- mind- Lady Sybil don't jump!" _

"_I won't! You didn't drop them did you?" _

"_No." _

"_Let me see!" he held up the apples and she smiled. Before he could stop her, she rolled over, hanging by her hands from the limb. _

"_Lady Sybil!" she dropped to the ground, smiling. _

"_I'm not so little anymore. It isn't as high." _

"_You're still a lady." He said, handing her the fruit. "Ladies don't climb trees." She gave an apple back to him. _

"_I do." She said, and bit into the crisp skin. "Ouch!" _

"_What is it?"_

"_My tooth!" she was more startled and amazed than hurt. In her hand was the tooth and a little blood._

"_Best go and find Nanny-" he started_

"_My first tooth!" she said, quite happy. She stared at it , rolling it between her thumb and index, holding it up for him to see. He thought, amusedly, of Lady Mary and Lady Edith, when they each discovered their baby teeth were coming out. Lady Mary was horrified, and Lady Edith thought she was dying. Here the youngest Crawley held the bone up to the light, studying it. _

"_It is an occasion, to be sure." He said. _

"_I should mark the tree!" she said. Giving him her apple, she pocketed her tooth, and fished out a small pocket knife. Where she got it from, he would never know, but before he could object, she was scrambling up the trunk with such determination that he couldn't help but give her another boost. _

"_Let me help." He said, deciding he didn't want her to fall out of the tree with a knife in her hands. Besides no one could see them from the house. On a limb sturdy enough for the two of them, Sybil carved:_

'_Lady Sybil Patricia Crawley August 1901'_

"_Now you, Mr. Carson." She said, "You're here too." _

"_I think I'd better not." He said. "I don't think Lord Grantham would appreciate my marking his fruit trees up."_

"_Well that isn't any fun." She huffed, but did not insist. At his insistence though, she gave him the knife before swinging down. "Mr. Carson?" she asked, as soon as he was back on the ground, brushing the bark from his suit. "Will it stay there forever?" she was looking up at her name. _

"_Yes, Lady Sybil. It will be there your whole lifetime, and probably long after you're gone." He smiled down at her. She grinned up at him, showing now the gap in her little teeth._

"_Mr. Carson?"_

"Mr. Carson!" he blinked, taking in a deep breath. The air was cold again, and he realized with a start that it was not August of 1901, it was August 1920, and Lady Sybil had just died. The voice calling him was not the youngest Crawley, it was Mrs. Hughes, coming after him. Probably wondering if he had lost his senses. She was at his side, dark eyes trained on him, worry and grief apparent. "Are you alright?" she asked softly. Numb, he nodded, and looked back up the tree. She followed his gaze, where the name and date had been carved.

"She wanted me to carve my name there too." He murmured. "She'd lost her first tooth right here, and felt she ought to mark the occasion." They stood in the still night, no breeze rustled the leaves, no starling chirped from its nest. It was as if the world knew and was mourning. "I knew her all her life, you see." He blinked once, twice. In the faint light of the moon, Elsie saw tears rolling down his weathered cheeks. "I've known her since she was born." His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers in his. He covered his face with his free hand, she was sure he didn't want her to see him cry, as he took a few deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. "I am sorry you must see me like this." He choked out at last.

"I'm not." Elsie said, and he looked at her, finding she was looking back. "Nor should you be."

"I should tell you to forget seeing me like this." He said, blinking back tears. "I should tell you to go in and let me be." He sniffed, chewing his bottom lip. "Truth is, I haven't the strength to." He bowed his head, shaking. Mrs. Hughes held his hand, unable to look away as he began to cry. "I don't know as I have the strength to do anything right now." Never had Carson admitted he was helpless. Yet here he stood, nothing he could do, nothing he could say to make any of it right. He stood there, feeling haggard and very, very old. He wanted to do something and nothing to do at the same time.

"Stop trying to think of something to do." Elsie's quiet voice cautioned him. "There is nothing _to_ do for the present, not until tomorrow, when the day's work will distract us." She squeezed his fingers, sighing "Let yourself grieve." He nodded, heaving a sigh. "Will you come in now?" she asked. He was looking up the trunk again.

"Not yet."

"Would you like me to go?"

"Not just now." So she stayed there beside him. After a moment, his arm came around her shoulders, holding her close to him. When she didn't object, his arm stayed there, and she felt comfortable enough to rest her head against him. Now she could not see his face, and perhaps that was what he wanted, for now he at last gave way to grief, shaking as he held her. "Th-there was never a lady like her." He said through his tears, his voice trembling and he stuttered.

"No." Elsie sniffed, "Nor will there be."


End file.
